


It's Only Etiquette

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I suppose that I should clean you up, as I’m the person who created this mess.”</p><p>Togami spills his beverage. He blames eggnog and Hagakure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

> written as a christmas gift for a good friend but only finished now
> 
> i write a lot of tofu, i apologise. i need to get my tofu from somewhere. it's my bday 6 february and i hope my offerings will bring me good fortune.

The clock on the wall counted seconds, each tick dragging on the otherwise quietude that hung over Touko and Byakuya.

Where Touko’s skirt dipped between her legs was a pool of eggnog that dribbled to the floor. They both stared down at the mess, at the gradually growing puddle by Touko’s slippered feet, neither paying attention to the clouded glass in Byakuya’s hand.

Beside them, the fireplace crackled. Flames licked at charred logs. Ten seconds ticked by.

One of Byakuya’s knees ached from stumbling across a wet spot on the wooden flooring moments before. Less than an hour ago, Yasuhiro had brought over some eggnog to celebrate the colder temperatures brought on by winter. He left almost immediately after to deliver the rest to everyone else, and Byakuya had thought to add some alcohol to his eggnog. On the way back from the kitchen, he tripped on a patch of slush that Yasuhiro must have walked in, and Byakuya managed to stay upright at the expense of Touko’s now drenched skirt.

He glanced at his empty glass and then looked at Touko, who was still staring down at her legs. The damp sole of his sock couldn’t compare to the eggnog that he basically threw onto her lap. It landed mostly on her skirt and slippers, with only a few fibres of her red Christmas jumper tinged off-white.

His eyes flitted to her face. “You should take your skirt off.”

“M-My skirt...?” Touko lifted her chin with a jolt.

“That’s where it spilled on you so yes.” He straightened up and flicked his wrist at her.

More eggnog poured onto the floor as Touko rose from her seat, thinning into rapid drips that pattered against the rug. She hooked her thumbs around the inside of her waistband and wiggled it down her legs. Her skirt, once loose-fitting, clung to her inner thighs and the eggnog that had soaked through the material gave the skin underneath a slight shine.

Byakuya pressed his lips together and tasted a hint of nutmeg from the sip of eggnog that he managed to drink before he spilled the rest, sure that Touko purposely shook her hips more than necessary for his benefit. Perhaps she intended to turn what happened into a show of some kind. It wouldn’t surprise him.

Touko flashed him a toothy grin, confirming his suspicions. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

Her waistband joined the pile of folds at her feet. She lifted one foot and carefully stepped out of her skirt, taking a few more paces forward to put space between her and the eggnog.

If Byakuya extended an arm, he could easily rest a hand onto her shoulder or cup his palm around her waist. That passed his mind because of the bourbon in the eggnog. The eggnog was to blame.

He realised she was waiting for him to say something.

“You’re wet,” he noted aloud, studying the slick surface of her legs.

She clutched her wrist and swung her hips to one side. Her lips curled as she made eye contact. “I’m wet... because of you.”

As usual, she had a quip ready for him. Byakuya breathed in shallowly and brought a hand forward, brushing it across her thigh. In a murmur, he said, “We can’t have that, can we...?”

The empty glass was set onto a nearby table, joining a jug of eggnog and Touko’s quarter-full glass.

Touko eyed his hand, trembling. “N-No,” the agreement barely left her mouth audible, “we can’t... have that...”

He cupped a palm around her waist, letting his thumb go under the elastic of her panties. His other hand continued to glide across her thigh, zigzagging slowly and gathering eggnog under his fingernails.

“I suppose,” he said, shifting the hand on her waist to her lower back, “that I should clean you up, as I’m the person who created this mess.”

Her shivering intensified. Touko grabbed onto his shoulders and nodded.

Byakuya rolled his lower lip into his mouth so he could wet it with his tongue. Then, shuffling toward her a bit, he knelt down so his face was level with her thighs. He moved the hand on her thigh to her back, uniting it with his other hand, and he dropped them a bit lower so he had more of her flesh to hold onto. Before he proceeded, he checked her face for permission, and she consented in drool that wrote her desire across her chin and with eyes that light flickered within.

The first lick up her thigh glazed Byakuya’s tongue with eggnog, wet and sticky. His tongue dragged upward from her knee and curled into his mouth once he planted a kiss below her panties. Her body began to shake even more so he steadied her with his hands as he licked another line parallel to the previous one.

Each strip that he licked got increasingly sloppier, both in saliva and in how straight they were, the second characteristic due to Touko’s inability to remain stationary; she twitched back involuntarily at his touch only to then push into him willingly. Five licks left her right thigh with a few slithers of eggnog, the thickest traces at her knee. Byakuya allowed himself a moment to admire the progress he had made so far, idly wiping his tongue over as much of his streaked chin as possible.

Wood scraped.

He looked up.

Touko had picked her glass of eggnog off the table. Making sure Byakuya was watching, she lowered the glass to the top of her left thigh and slowly tipped it. Eggnog streamed down her leg, splattering against her skin and his face.

Byakuya wrinkled his nose but said nothing. His eyelids hung half-open as he gave her left thigh the same treatment as her other one. This time required more licks; he counted nine, and each lick here gathered up more eggnog on average.

With the additional amount that Touko poured onto herself, Byakuya could fully appreciate how rich and creamy the beverage was. The nutmeg’s flavour was also stronger, more obvious, nutty and earthy, wafting through his taste buds. He returned to her right knee briefly to flick his tongue over it a few times, collecting the eggnog residue he had forgone earlier, before going back to her left thigh.

An arch of eggnog clung to the area of skin beneath the leg hole of her panties, some smeared over her top row of scar tallies. Without differentiating between marked and unmarked skin, Byakuya ran his tongue across the eggnog until the tip of his tongue poked at the strip of fabric between her legs.

“Hm,” he went, withdrawing his tongue and tasting mostly eggnog.

She inhaled sharply. “Is... something wrong?”

“It seems that you’re also wet here,” Byakuya explained, bringing one hand to her front. He rubbed his thumb against the dampness in her panties.

Touko leaned into his touch, trying to press him against a certain spot.

The corners of his lips upturned into a satisfied smile.

“You made it wet there,” Touko said breathily. She drove her fingers through his hair, pushing some of it back. A few hairs sprung free. “Y-You need to clean that up too...!”

Hearing such a direct order from her sent a flush of energy down him. “I ought to,” he agreed, crooking his fingers around the elastic of her panties. He stood up, keeping his hands where they were, and both of them teetered toward the armchair behind Touko, him going forward and her going in reverse, just aware enough of her discarded skirt for Byakuya to kick it aside on the way over.

She dropped her hands from his hair to his forearms and with a thump, Touko slumped backward onto the armchair.

Byakuya tugged down her panties as he knelt onto the rug, feeling Touko lace her fingers through his hair again, and feeling her hand guide his head to between her legs. His tongue drew delicate trails as he inspected her warm folds, starting with feathery swipes that collapsed into a rough slap when she gave the back of his head a sudden push. The eggnog had been served chilled so chilled was his tongue, and she let out a gasp as hot and cold melded.

Her grip on his hair constricted, her guidance lost subtlety and she all but shoved him into her clit. Byakuya pulled back, resisting only enough so that his nose wasn’t crushed, his hands gripping the cushion of the armchair tightly. Touko’s fingernails dug into his scalp and into his shoulder, and pain crashed through him to join the pleasure already pooling in his gut. He shut his eyes, intending to hone his other senses with a lack of sight, and pressed down harder with his tongue.

A different flavour made its existence known to him, sweeter with a slight metallic tang, more familiar than the eggnog, and Byakuya swirled his tongue to lap up what he could. Most of her taste got lost in his saliva so he swallowed before sweeping his tongue over her juices again.

The wood in the fireplace sounded like it was snapping as it burned.

She arched back her neck, panting, clawing at Byakuya’s hair as she clumsily ground into him. He released his hold on the cushion and made a vague attempt to restrain her hips with his hands, and once she had stilled to an agreeable level, he moved one hand and rubbed his thumb in circles over her clit. This gave his tongue the opportunity to slip down a little and probe inside her.

Touko crossed her ankles over the back of his neck, squeezing inward rhythmically, shameless moans tumbling out of her. Every contraction, every whine, all of it surged through Byakuya and he channeled the rush of control, of power that she gave him, into the pumping motion of his tongue, which became the motion of his finger when his hand on her clit swapped places with his mouth.

Another finger soon joined the first. Sucking supplanted his licks. Her rocking heightened in desperation and with a cry, she succumbed to a convulsion that drenched his mouth. He drank it all in, slurping even if the noise was ghastly, until she stopped shaking and her hand went limp in his hair.

Byakuya turned his head to the side and transferred his weight backward so he was squatting, becoming aware of the ache in his wrist that failed to be shaken off. Glancing up, he saw Touko recline in the armchair, her chest heaving and her face relaxed in a way that told him that she wouldn’t be able to do much for a bit. He rose and slotted himself next to her on the seat cushion, winding an arm around her waist and gently guiding her head into a kiss.

Usually his displays of affection were kept to a minimum but again, the bourbon in the eggnog. Yes. That was it. Byakuya belatedly wondered if she would want to kiss him after his mouth had explored where it had explored, but she tilted her head a bit and reciprocated. This presented a different kind of intimacy, not one where he aroused her and she in turn aroused him, according to the growing bulge in his crotch, but an intimacy that stirred emotions inside him that he spent much of his life quashing.

In ways he and Touko were different, in certain ways starkly so, yet in other aspects they bonded, intertwining like their now interlocked fingers. His chest fluttered and he hugged her tighter, scraping his teeth against her lightly as he bit down on her lower lip. She moaned.

The clock on the wall ticked, quantifying the current lull.

Touko finally pulled back. A smile crept across her lips. “Is that... everything cleaned up then?”

“I believe so,” Byakuya said.

“Are you sure?” Her fingers skittered up his leg.

He furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

She crawled her hand up to the fly of his trousers and fiddled with the zipper slide.

Byakuya widened his eyes slightly, observing. “I suppose not, then.”

His fly was pulled down with a metallic rasp that ripped the air. Touko twisted her body around, unbuckling his belt and popping free the button of his trousers. He shifted in his seat to let her more easily ease down his underwear, and once he felt himself become exposed, she clambered onto his lap and straddled him. She didn’t slip him inside her though, instead reaching down to knead his throbbing heat with a clammy fist.

“You never told me where I am supposedly dirty,” he reminded Touko, his cheeks flushed.

Her fingers set to work on the buttons of his shirt, beginning at his collar, but he swatted her hands away so he could do it himself and so she could focus on stimulating him. A glance down alerted him of a globule of liquid leaking out of his slit, soon smeared down his length.

“Well?” Byakuya’s breathing hitched at a particularly long, hard drag from her hand. “Where am I dirty?”

Touko elevated herself, gripping onto his shoulders with both hands. “I asked if everything was clean...” She took a hand off him and grabbed onto his length’s base. “I never said you were... dirty...”

He clicked his tongue. “By asking twice, you led me to believe my first answer was false... such was a valid criticism of the methods used in Piaget’s study of conservation.”

She hardened her hold and pushed her breasts forward, throwing a wide grin at him. “M-Maybe you just have a dirty mind, Byakuya-sama...”

The honorific had petered out of usage once they joined together as an official couple, reserved for times like this. His chest quivered and he held onto her hips in anticipation of the events to follow. Their lips hovered close enough to feel the other’s breath and momentarily they distracted themselves with each other’s eyes, Byakuya in a dust cloud tinged with violet and Touko in a reservoir of clear blue, until Touko breathed in slowly and descended fully, slipping onto him and enveloping him in her snug heat.

Had her feet been able to touch the floor, she would have had an easier time bobbing up and down, but the armchair prevented her from getting her toes anywhere near the carpet. Transferring to a stool felt like too much work and so she sat with her legs bent, feet situated next to his hips and flat against the seat cushion. She seized the back of the armchair and bumped down on him in slow, shallow pushes, tensing as his hands slithered up to stroke her back. Within seconds she realised it was him touching her and gazed at his face, lips ajar as if about to speak, only to puff at an almost inaudible level.

Each thrust got progressively deeper and louder as skin hit skin. Byakuya heard leather rustle inside her clenched fists, tight, close to his ears. Puffs heightened into gasps, spiked with yelps that dissolved into moans, not just from her but from him as well. These noises were drawn out, out from deep inside him, from where warmth simmered then fizzed as her muscles contracted rhythmically and he pulsed in time with his heartbeat. At the bottom of his vision, he saw her breasts heave, clothed, never swinging near enough to make contact. His feet shunted forward across the carpet and he wiggled lower so he wasn’t quite sitting but not quite lying either, legs almost dangling in the air.

Touko stuttered on a ‘b’, his b, her b, her Byakuya-sama, hands curved around his shoulders. Her legs rolled forward so her knees now rested on the cushion, not the soles of her feet, and their chests crashed and rubbed together. None of the following movements were as intense as the first one though, mere pats and strokes that scratched at his chest’s nakedness.

He tugged up her Christmas jumper, jiggling it past her breasts to her shoulders to her neck to her head. The jumper was tossed to the floor and they pressed into each other again, their lips mashed into a fumbling kiss that stopped and started as they rocked and ground, Byakuya’s hands curling over her hips in support.

She slid her hands up to his shoulders. With their movements slower, she was less likely to spring off him, and she shimmied in small, gradual circles in his loosened hold, giving him a better feel of inside of her.

“Does... this feel... good?” she asked, her question fractured by panting.

Byakuya emitted a disyllabic hum, immersed in their friction, in their friction that crackled through to the rest of him.

Her face was bright pink. “C-Can... I try something...?”

He looked up properly from her cleavage and managed a, “What?”

Touko’s eyelids drooped, heavy, contrasting with her lips that pulled up at the corners. “I read it... in a book...”

A book. Byakuya needed a moment to decipher what she said and then raised his eyebrows. “I... suppose...”

“You’ll have... to sit up again...”

With a bit of effort, he writhed upright.

She dug her nails into his shoulders and leaned back, kicking up her legs. Instinctively, he caught her by the armpits in case she fell off, but she hadn’t tried to tip to the floor. Touko poised her back at an angle and spread her legs apart, suspending them temporarily in midair, before casting her knees down to bend at his shoulders. Then, positioning the balls of her feet firmly against the back of the armchair, she pushed off and thrust back into him.

Her posture looked uncomfortable but Touko had always been rather flexible. In any case, to relieve her of some of the tension and effort that the pose must have strained her body with, Byakuya aided Touko’s bounces with his hands. She threw back her head, arching her neck, gifting Byakuya with a view of her growing euphorically undone. Of her sweat, of her tousled hair, of her glowing pink skin, and he felt her legs quake more and more with every thrust.

The clock on the wall counted seconds. A resounding moan rang out from her lips, and Byakuya soon followed in a burst of erratic twitches.

Touko waited for him to still before nestling up against him. He wrapped his arms around her, his chin pressed into her shoulder. She adjusted the position of one of her legs, slipping it between his legs, trickling a fluid onto his thigh that, though the same colour as eggnog, definitely wasn’t eggnog.

Nine months later, Byakuya Jr. was born.


End file.
